LITMIR.BIZ

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the male guard stomped out, returning shortly with a disposable plastic cup half-full of water that smelt faintly of chemicals.

      Water was water, and anything to quench her raging thirst would work.

      She’d barely slugged back most of the foul-tasting liquid when three people bustled in. One was the wrinkled old Heran, another was a pinch-faced human woman whose black hair was scraped back into a severe bun, and the last was a J’Veth drone whose skin was stained dark with anger. The slit pupil of his red-orange eyes was tiny, and his facial tentacles fair quivered as he regarded her.

      “This is the cause of all our troubles?”

      Ugh. What a way to start her interrogation.

      “T’Atmar,” the old woman chided as she seated herself in the middle. “That is unworthy of you.” Then she smiled at Nuri, her features transformed. “Don’t mind that grumpy old drone. He’s just annoyed because he was rudely interrupted from his slumber.”

      “As we all were,” said the wrinkled Heran, settling himself on the chair to Nuri’s left.

      “A little bit of excitement would do you well,” the woman said. “Get your ichor flowing.”

      T’Atmar sat down so hard his chair squeaked alarmingly, and he rearranged his voluminous navy-blue robes. “A little bit of excitement will be the death of us all.”

      “We don’t need any more excitement than we’ve already got,” said the Heran male.

      Nuri sipped the last of the water from the cup. Merely having an object to hold, no matter how flimsy, gave a degree of comfort as she searched the faces before her. Her heart beat so wildly she feared it might explode. Exactly how much trouble was she in?

      “Right,” said the old woman. “What is your name, child? You are not a Citizen, and according to city records you have a list of misdemeanours longer than your arm. Why you haven’t been shipped off-planet yet is anyone’s guess.”

      Next to her, the Heran male frowned ferociously.

      Nuri sighed. “My name … is Nuri.”

      “And?”

      “I run for one of the bosses in the north-west barrens.”

      “A career criminal!” the grumpy old drone snarked.

      “Peace, T’Atmar,” the woman said, holding out a hand. “I will ask the questions. You and Katha are merely observers.”

      She then looked Nuri. “I am Alda Valeni, and I am a spokesperson and chief facilitator for this facility. We would like to understand why you felt the need to trespass, and indeed how it is that you managed to penetrate as far as you did without tripping the alarms. And how by the ancestors’ souls did you bypass security to the hangar?”

      The woman didn’t sound angry, which was more than Nuri could’ve hoped for. She wasn’t sure if she could cope with angry adults shouting and waving their arms about, although Alda’s two companions didn’t look as if they had any patience for a story.

      When Nuri didn’t immediately reply, Alda said, “You can speak, child. We are, naturally, concerned for the security breach, but we will not hurt you.”

      Nuri drew a deep breath. How much could she say? “You’re not going to believe me.”

      “Try us.”

      “Okay. I heard a siren song. A strong psi-call.” She waited for the angry outburst that didn’t come.

      The adults turned to each other, Katha’s large oval eyes becoming even more bulbous. The J’Veth drone paled to a stone colour before returning to his dark emotive state. He splayed one hand on the table top, truly agitated judging by how none of the eight tentacles could stop squirming over each other. Alda, however, sat a little straighter and locked her gaze with Nuri’s.

      “How did you enter the hangar? The locks were all activated.”

      “They’d been overridden. Like a system’s glitch.”

      “Impossible!” the J’Veth drone burst out. “The system was updated only three days ago. She must’ve done something.”

      “Peace.” Alda held out her hand again and then turned back to Nuri. “I believe you, child. But now we sit with a conundrum. We cannot let you go, even into the care of an authority. At least not until the emergence.”

      “Ma’am,” Nuri started. “What’s in the hangar?” She might as well ask. And emergence? What was that? And this business of not letting her go until then? That pressure was back in her chest but she daren’t let the adults see how much their words upset her.

      “She might as well be told,” Katha said.

      Alda’s lips puckered and she shut her eyes for a few heartbeats before looking at Nuri again. “Very well. How much do you know about the seed?”

      “The seed?” The way the woman had said “seed” made it sound important, but no recognition was sparked.

      Alda sighed. “Twelve years ago, one of the star-jumpers left a seed here. A highly unconventional, unexpected act. The first in recorded history of this sector in the galaxy. There have been cases before elsewhere, but knowledge has mostly been suppressed. And we suppressed the media until we were certain it would take.”

      A gasp escaped Nuri, and a ghost of the psi-call that had brought her this far echoed in her heart. What did this mean exactly? She knew next to nothing about star-jumpers and hadn’t been paying attention to the news recently.

      Alda frowned and turned to T’Atmar. “She heard the call. You can see it writ all over her face.”

      He grumbled in J’Veth, the words too slurred for Nuri to follow, but it sounded like an insult.

      Nuri steeled herself, determined not to let it show that his attitude towards her stung.

      Alda turned back to Nuri. “The short version of this story is that for some reason unknown to us, the star-jumpers have decided to allow this planet an opportunity to bond with one of their own. Each star-jumper is more than just a vessel to jump between stars – ancestors above, perhaps even between galaxies. We simply don’t know. What we do know, and what isn’t common knowledge, is that each of these ships is a sentient, living being, represented by an avatar. And each star-jumper requires an avatar. Which brings us to you.” Alda exhaled enough to make her shoulders slump. “It would appear that it has called you.”

      “If word gets out about this, our patrons will not be happy,” Katha murmured. “This is a PR disaster.”

      “You don’t think I know this?” Alda snapped at him.

      “It’s unconscionable,” T’Atmar said. “We cannot allow her to stand. We should keep her secured until this is over, then have her mind-wiped.”

      “And if the nymph rejects all the others?” Alda asked. “What then? We’ll lose a valuable opportunity!”

      “She has no patron,” Katha said.

      “Is that even necessary?”

      “You forget who funds this initiative,” said T’Atmar. “Most certainly not fresh air and star shine.”

      “How poetic of you.” The woman turned her gaze to Nuri again. “But I suppose if the right patron can be found, it will provide this wee mite with a modicum of legitimacy.”

      “Who are your parents?”

      “You’ve never received a formal education?”

      “Have you ever killed anyone?”

      “Are you sure you don’t know who your parents are?”

      On and on the questions came, until Nuri lost track.

      One

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